This Heart the has been through Hell
by DeathBeNoMore
Summary: So I said it was a Misc. Books. It's not. But Fanfiction requires you to select a catergory to file your story under and since this really doesn't have one I just went with something close to it. I know I could have published this on a different site, but this is a site I know. Anyway, this is my idea for a story I am writing. Literally it just came to me, that's it.
1. Prologue

Dear reader,

I applaud you for picking up this book. Even the strongest man in the county would not have the audacity to do what you have done; it takes true courage. Reading the last sentence you must be thinking, dear reader, that I am lying. That this is merely a ploy to get you to pick up one of those paper stacks that your English teacher is insisting you to read. A dry novel filled with facts and no storyline at all right? Well think again my friend. In this novel, you will not find a dry as the Sahara desert story of geography nor will it be an innocent story of what "the good girl did" or what, "the boy has done." This is purely an account of how hellish this world can truly be, how much chaos can take place in a single minute. A minute might seem very short but let me tell you, in my opinion, if not even from my own experience, one's whole life can be turned upside down in a minute. The truth can become the lies, the dark becomes light and nothing is as it really seems. This story may take longer than a minute but it must be told nonetheless. So, if you haven't put this book down to read a cutesy and innocent one, be prepared to enter a world, my world. To see how in just a mere minute I could lose everything dear to me. To see not only into my soul and its suffering, but into my heart; this very thing that has been through hell.

Sincerely,

Boo


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Monday's. God they have to be the worst days of the week, and I am not exaggerating. Whoever the bright thinker was to make Monday the official day when one must return to school should be dragged into an alley and shot. But as many mothers will tell their, "little minions" they call children, when they make a fuss in a department store,

"Complaining won't get you anywhere, so don't even try," or at least that is what my mother use to tell me. With that mantra running through my skull I rubbed the dust out of my eyes and flailed my arms haphazardly for the light switch. _Oh wait. That's right. My light switch is on the wall on the other side of the room. Whoever the idiot was who designed this house and put the light switch farthest from my bed should be dragged into an alley and beaten._ Groaning for the first of many groans to come that day I snuggled under the covers for a few seconds more.

I tried to pull all the warmth from my bed into my body. With a one, two three I flung the covers back and hopped onto my feet on the cold wooden floor. _Brrr. Why is it always so cold in the house in the morning? Oh that's right, my mom thinks she is a penguin and keeps the house at a modest 68 degree Fahrenheit all year round._ Now having more to complain about and cold, I shuffled to the wall and hit the switch in turn hitting my elbow on the dresser right next to the switch. _It's just going to be one of those days, I can feel it. _

The blinding light! It hurt to open my eyes and I got this pain from behind my eyes. You ever get that? Like when its really dark and then _BAM_ the lights turn on and its like your eyeballs are vibrating from the onslaught of light? Yeah like that. Recovering from my blindness, I pulled on clean clothes I thought looked good for the day and trudged downstairs. I try to be quiet when I do it, but those damn stairs creek every step. Can't be incognito if all you hear is _creek creek creek._

And I have to be quiet since its early, four o'clock in the morning to be exact. Why would any sane person be up this early? Because I like my time alone. Once I have to wake up to turn my mothers' alarm clock, (she sets it to wake her and us if we overslept) its all noise and I hate that. Despite the lack of sleep I get doing this, it is nice to have the whole house to myself while everything else, even our fat bagel, (lab and beagle mix) sleeps and snores that rivals the loudest express train.

I shuffle into the living room first making sure my brother is asleep. Yes my brother sleeps in the living room. He has a bedroom, just don't know why he sleeps down there. I then sneak into my parents' room to check on their status. I hear the t.v. blaring but that doesn't concern me, the noise gives me cover to hide all the noises I may make. Peeking around the corner and confirming that they are asleep, I quickly crab walk to where my laptop is charging, unplug it and head quickly back to my room.

Yes, it is sad to say that _**my**_ computer doesn't even stay in my room. What's even worse, is that my parents finally trusted me enough last year, to get me a computer for Christmas. Pathetic huh? Anyway, once I get back upstairs I turn it on and log on. It's a slower model but it gets the job done, which is just fine with me. After checking my e-mail and reading post people have made on Facebook I hit the _Favorite Site_ link. I stare at the computer and smile and wait.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The screen goes dark for a minute. The computer whines in protest of making it run this early in the morning, making me afraid that if may crash on me. After a minute or so of staring at the darned thing and, going from threatening to dismantle it to encouraging it to work with soft sweet words, the thing finally loads to get me to the page. A black screen appears again but with white cryptic words scrawled all along the screen. At the top is the sites letterhead; a black heart with a pink outline, bleeding its crimson nectar out of a cut made by the dagger jabbed through it.

_Heart Throb_ it's called. A site for loners and freaks like me to flock for the moral support we wouldn't usually get at school or at home. Here we all call each other brethrens, our family our friends. Honestly its just like Facebook but the "darker side of Facebook" if you get what I mean. Anyway I log in as usual avatar, _DeathIsEveryWhere _and head straight to the "blogs" site. There everyone else has already signed in and is waiting. Simply waiting as usual. We are waiting for "him". The guy who made this site. Any diehard _Heart Throb _fan will get up at the crack of dawn to be one of the first to read the guys daily life instructions. Since it is done so early, a lot of people think he lives out more East. I think it's because this guy is probably a night owl like everyone else and surfs the web until four in the morning to enlighten his little fledglings. I sit on my bed and wait. Play with the track pad, pick at my thumbnail, play with the newly formed scab on my right thumb. Then a small shrill _ping_ alerted everyone to the logging on of another person.

:TheWhoRulesTheNighthas logged on_._


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_:TheWhoRulesTheNight has logged on._ Upon reading those words my whole body tenses up. I sit erect and wait for what seems like an eternity for him to say anything.

_: TheWhoRulesTheNight: Hello my freaky little ones. Have you missed me? So for today's lesson; it's not really a lesson. I am here today instead to announce, a gathering, if you will. For one night, I am calling all of my children to me so that you may finally meet your master face to face and I meet my loyal disciples. This soirée will begin at nine o'clock Thursday evening and will commence at midnight. I have sent out an R.S.V.P to all of my children and will be requesting proof of invite at gate…so don't try to sneak one past me. I will know. Until then my dear children, adieu._

_: TheWhoRulesTheNight has logged off._

After he (or she in some people's opinion) logged off, I sit there stock-still. Seconds later the screen erupts with posts of people opinion of what just happened. Some were actually very excited to finally meet this person face to face. Others weren't.

_:HellHound4U: OMG! Can u believe it? We are actually going to meet this guy!_

_Or her! :Goth_chicky_98:_

_:Skulls_n'_Bones: Whatever! The point is this thing is happening! Gonna get to party! Hey wait he said soiree! Aren't those the really stuck up parties where everyone has to dress formally?_

At this point I am finally aware enough to chime in with my two cents'.

_Not necessarily. A soiree is just a fancy name for a party. Although it is sometimes used to describe what you would call a "black tie" event. I'm pretty sure you can wear whatever you want but, why don't you message him and find out. :DeathIsEveryWhere:_

After a few more back and forth with other members I decide to check my e-mail for the R.S.V.P. Low and behold in my inbox is a message that reads; "_R.S.V.P; Heart Throb site". Click-click._ It's a very short invite, only a few sentences long. All the message really said was; parties at nine and will go to midnight on Thursday. You need the print up of the e-mail to get in. Under dress code, (which kind of threw me off a bit) was "wear the colors of our people". Talk about cryptic.

Probably meant dark colors that "goths" or vamps are supposed to wear. Which is completely stereotypical. There is actually a girl in my class who you would label as a Goth but, she wears pink gothic dresses, big platform shoes, painted pink nails and lips and looks like a porcelain doll. I could probably go on and on for hours about the misconceptions of Goths and that subculture but, I digress. I shut down my computer and let it get some well deserved rest. Stretching my arms over my head, I glance at the little alarm clock next to me. 6:00 a.m. _Sigh. _Looks like its time to wake my brother up. And let the circus begin.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 5

By the time the lunch bell rings, I am begging to be shot so I don't have to endure the 30 minutes when I am stuffed into a medium sized lunchroom with about, 40 other people I loathe. Don't get me wrong, not everyone is on my list. It's just that so many people that are in my lunch period are on my list it is hard to pick out the ones that aren't. It's like finding Waldo except it isn't just one Waldo.

The rest of the day passed as it always did. Fair to middling_1_. As the last bell rings I go through the motions of collecting my things, throwing on my trench that I wore in that day, and shuffling to the bus as fast as I can. You have to get on the bus pretty early so you are not stuck sitting near the middle-schoolers, who insist on yelling. All. The. Time. Most of the time I cannot hear them over my music, but when I can, it is like hell on earth. And not the good kind one might assume I would like.

The ride home is only a half and hour which would normally give me enough time to finish any homework I might have. But it seems to me that our teachers give us way too much at the end of class. So much time in fact, that most of the time, we can finish our homework right there in class. This pisses my parents off so much. "Homework is to be done at home. That is why it is called "homework"." That is what they say, air quotes and all. I say, they give us homework; great. If they give us homework and we can finish it in class, awesome! It shouldn't matter where the homework is actually done, just that the work is done to the best of one's ability and turned in promptly. But try telling that to my parents. It's like hitting a brick wall.

What can I say about the rest of the day? Not much really. Get home, breathe for a minute before my mom asks me to do 15 things the first minute I am home. My brother cannot help out; he is at track practice. Part of me thinks it is good that he is in a sport that accommodates his freakishly long legs._2_ The other part of me thinks that he does it so he has a reason not to be here after school so I have to be the only one for my parents' beck and call.

Let me make myself clear. My parents ask for a lot not because they are lazy, far from it, they just need a little help every now and again. I believe my parents, (and I am not trying to brag) are the hardest working people I know. Perhaps I am biased but, it is true. After dropping out of high school my mom worked for a long time as a driver instructor before me and my brother were born and, then supported the three of us to live in a small 2 bedroom apartment all on her own, before she met my dad. And then she went on to further her education in college. She could have started college sooner if it wasn't for yours truly being born. She has a Master's of Organizational Leadership (M.O.L.) degree and Bachelors degree in business. My father is an accountant but works from home. He has cerebral palsy. I could go into explaining it but, I believe if you really want to know, go look it up. This will further your knowledge better than me explaining it to you and it would just make it too long to explain. Basically his mothers' doctor told her she wasn't pregnant_3_ and, that he was actually a tumor. The tumor thing is actually now a little private joke for our family. So when he was born, the doctor wasn't there to deliver him and, the nurses back then couldn't do it. (I don't get that either.) So for a brief moment while my grandmother was in labor waiting for this dumb ass to show up, so she could have her baby, he lost oxygen supply to the brain for like a minute, not even. And now he is wheelchair bound. Can you imagine the look on the doc's face when he was born? I can imagine my grandmother with this "I told you so" face.

As soon as I am done helping my parents at that moment and I assure them that, yes I did finish my homework, no I am not lying and yes it is true they gave us enough time to finish it, I grab my laptop and steal away to my dungeon as it is called. I prefer writing in my room alone because it is easier to write that way and I can play my music at any volume while I am up here. My mom doesn't understand that music can actually increase brain activity and increase productiveness. She thinks it is a distraction.

Like early that morning, I check my e-mail, check the HeartThrob website for anything new (nope nothing) surf the web for a little bit. I then pull up Microsoft Word and starting writing. By the time I return home my brain is already buzzing with ideas and plots and characters from the days events or personal opinions. This is where most of my muse comes from, unless I get bored and then don't finish it. I like to write late at night usually because then everything is quieting down and I know my parents won't need to call me for anything. I hate being interrupted when I am writing. Then I lose my train of thought and it usually takes me a while to remember where I was going with all of this. I write for about an two hours. I feel like I could write more but, I am yawning every five minutes and, my body threatens to slump over my desk and hurt me if I don't get some sleep right now! "Alright, alright. I am going to bed! See? Shutting the computer down as we speak." Yes I am talking to my body. In case you haven't noticed I am odd like that. With one last yawn I crawl under my blankets, squirm a little to get comfy, switch the light off and drift off to sleep. There in my subconscious, I dream of the party and of meeting the creator of HeartThrob with a mix of anticipation and fear. That and about a male and female dog who could talk and adopted a bear cub as their own son._4_

1 I don't really know what that means.

2 He's 15 and 6'. I am 16 and 4' 9". Guess who gets bragging rights?

3 She's a child of 10 kids and had 3 children of her own prior to this point. And she doesn't know when she is pregnant? Yeah right!

4 I don't know where I got that dream or why I had it. Freaky right? FYI, in the dream they called the bear Pooka because he loved to play Peek -a-boo with everyone.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

By the time the lunch bell rings, I am begging to be shot so I don't have to endure the 30 minutes when I am stuffed into a medium sized lunchroom with about, 40 other people I loathe. Don't get me wrong, not everyone is on my list. It's just that so many people that are in my lunch period are on my list it is hard to pick out the ones that aren't. It's like finding Waldo except it isn't just one Waldo.

The rest of the day passed as it always did. Fair to middling_1_. As the last bell rings I go through the motions of collecting my things, throwing on my trench that I wore in that day, and shuffling to the bus as fast as I can. You have to get on the bus pretty early so you are not stuck sitting near the middle-schoolers, who insist on yelling. All. The. Time. Most of the time I cannot hear them over my music, but when I can, it is like hell on earth. And not the good kind one might assume I would like.

The ride home is only a half and hour which would normally give me enough time to finish any homework I might have. But it seems to me that our teachers give us way too much at the end of class. So much time in fact, that most of the time, we can finish our homework right there in class. This pisses my parents off so much. "Homework is to be done at home. That is why it is called "homework"." That is what they say, air quotes and all. I say, they give us homework; great. If they give us homework and we can finish it in class, awesome! It shouldn't matter where the homework is actually done, just that the work is done to the best of one's ability and turned in promptly. But try telling that to my parents. It's like hitting a brick wall.

What can I say about the rest of the day? Not much really. Get home, breathe for a minute before my mom asks me to do 15 things the first minute I am home. My brother cannot help out; he is at track practice. Part of me thinks it is good that he is in a sport that accommodates his freakishly long legs._2_ The other part of me thinks that he does it so he has a reason not to be here after school so I have to be the only one for my parents' beck and call.

Let me make myself clear. My parents ask for a lot not because they are lazy, far from it, they just need a little help every now and again. I believe my parents, (and I am not trying to brag) are the hardest working people I know. Perhaps I am biased but, it is true. After dropping out of high school my mom worked for a long time as a driver instructor before me and my brother were born and, then supported the three of us to live in a small 2 bedroom apartment all on her own, before she met my dad. And then she went on to further her education in college. She could have started college sooner if it wasn't for yours truly being born. She has a Master's of Organizational Leadership (M.O.L.) degree and Bachelors degree in business. My father is an accountant but works from home. He has cerebral palsy. I could go into explaining it but, I believe if you really want to know, go look it up. This will further your knowledge better than me explaining it to you and it would just make it too long to explain. Basically his mothers' doctor told her she wasn't pregnant_3_ and, that he was actually a tumor. The tumor thing is actually now a little private joke for our family. So when he was born, the doctor wasn't there to deliver him and, the nurses back then couldn't do it. (I don't get that either.) So for a brief moment while my grandmother was in labor waiting for this dumb ass to show up, so she could have her baby, he lost oxygen supply to the brain for like a minute, not even. And now he is wheelchair bound. Can you imagine the look on the doc's face when he was born? I can imagine my grandmother with this "I told you so" face.

As soon as I am done helping my parents at that moment and I assure them that, yes I did finish my homework, no I am not lying and yes it is true they gave us enough time to finish it, I grab my laptop and steal away to my dungeon as it is called. I prefer writing in my room alone because it is easier to write that way and I can play my music at any volume while I am up here. My mom doesn't understand that music can actually increase brain activity and increase productiveness. She thinks it is a distraction.

Like early that morning, I check my e-mail, check the HeartThrob website for anything new (nope nothing) surf the web for a little bit. I then pull up Microsoft Word and starting writing. By the time I return home my brain is already buzzing with ideas and plots and characters from the days events or personal opinions. This is where most of my muse comes from, unless I get bored and then don't finish it. I like to write late at night usually because then everything is quieting down and I know my parents won't need to call me for anything. I hate being interrupted when I am writing. Then I lose my train of thought and it usually takes me a while to remember where I was going with all of this. I write for about an two hours. I feel like I could write more but, I am yawning every five minutes and, my body threatens to slump over my desk and hurt me if I don't get some sleep right now! "Alright, alright. I am going to bed! See? Shutting the computer down as we speak." Yes I am talking to my body. In case you haven't noticed I am odd like that. With one last yawn I crawl under my blankets, squirm a little to get comfy, switch the light off and drift off to sleep. There in my subconscious, I dream of the party and of meeting the creator of HeartThrob with a mix of anticipation and fear. That and about a male and female dog who could talk and adopted a bear cub as their own son._4_

1 I don't really know what that means.

2 He's 15 and 6'. I am 16 and 4' 9". Guess who gets bragging rights?

3 She's a child of 10 kids and had 3 children of her own prior to this point. And she doesn't know when she is pregnant? Yeah right!

4 I don't know where I got that dream or why I had it. Freaky right? FYI, in the dream they called the bear Pooka because he loved to play Peek -a-boo with everyone.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The days go by in a blur for me until it is Thursday. I can barely keep my excitement in check as I dress early, or earlier that is, for the day ahead. As I walk out to catch the bus I find that I am humming one of my favorite songs. Me humming! That tells you I'm in a good mood. But that thrill of the ever-approaching evening was cut short when I got to school. You ever hear the saying, "A watched pot never boils?" Well that was what school was like. I sit at my desk, trying very hard to listen to my teacher and, watch as the slides flash by on the overhead projector screen. Every so often I look up to the clock wondering to myself how much time do I have left until that bell rings? What seems like twenty minutes is only two or three. After checking the clock like that three or four times I let my head fall on the desk with a slight _thud._ _Damn! Why can't time go faster? When I don't want the bell to ring it does and now because I have somewhere I need to be tonight it decides to torture me with the reality of time itself. And owww! That hurt._ The last thought came to me as I absent mindedly rubbed the sore spot on my forehead. Note to self; do not slam head against desk. I already have very few brain cells to begin with, no need to lose them all right? _No!_ I scold myself mentally. _You need to pay attention! You've done so good so far in school. Don't go and drop points for not paying attention this late in the game._ Schooling my mind to pay homage to the task at hand, I glance back up at the board.

It just so happens that my history teacher decides then that she will now be a sadist and pick me to answer her question. I can feel all the eyes on me as I struggle to thread together the answer. My teacher stands before me, her slim arms crossed over her small cotton clad torso. Small and heavy outlined eyes stared into my core, eyebrows raised enough that they disappeared into her wild dark brown bangs. Usually I pay very good attention in all my classes, even math, so this usually wouldn't be a problem. Dang party has me so out of whack! I take a deep breath and try to recall everything I had heard up to that point. _Now what was she saying? What era is this?_ I look around the room at all the posters she has plastered around her room, as if they held a secret code with the answer. Nope, nothing. Finally I dare to take a look at my teacher. She is still there, this time with the toe of her knockoff Prada shoe tapping on the linoleum floor, adding her impatience.

"Do you even know what were talking about?" She asked after a pregnant pause. Finally I have to shake my head in defeat. Might as well go down with the truth then sit there like an idiot and stutter for a minute.

"No, no clue." There I said it, over and done with. "What I was asking was; what is the name of the person who assassinated JFK?" I blink for a quick second, reeling. Really was that all? I knew that by heart, as did anyone who took U.S. history before. "Lee Harvey Oswald?" I ask even though I know I am right. She sighs and with a quick nod of her head she turns around and returns to the lesson. I settle myself further into my seat as if I could just disappear in it until school is over. Yeah fat chance of that happening. With a little sprig of hope, I look up at the culprit of my distraction; hoping that that incident had sped time along. It had been 9:35 when I was called on. It was now 9:37. Just kill me now.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Finally! It has come! Time for me to get ready for the party. Unfortunately I didn't have a lot of time to debate on my wardrobe. I know I know. I had since Monday morning to think about this but I am a big procrastinator. One of my many flaws. So here I am, 8:30 p.m., standing in front of my closet deciding on what is "appropriate" to wear to this thing. At first I think to wear something simple like black jeans and a red top. Lately though, I have been in the mood to dress up more, even for normal days like going to school. So I feel more inclined to dress up now since I am going to a party. Eventually I decide on a sheer black lace long sleeve dress that comes down to me on mid thigh and my black heels.

I rush into the bathroom to put on my face and give myself a once over. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and, spritzed a little sugar and fig perfume, (that thing smells incredible). I pull my long brown hair into a bun with my bangs hanging out to frame my oval shaped face. I peered up into the mirror to get a good look at my brown eyes. I can't do much to them since my purple-ish red Vogue glasses hide them. Which is fine; less make up, the less I have to fuss about it at the party. Applied a little bit of cover up and painted my lips in an Autumn rose color. Looking once again in the mirror I am satisfied with myself. I grab my sneakers and slip those on, placing my heels in a Top's bag. (I have to walk to the freaking building.) I learned the hard way that if you are going to walk for a long time, wear comfortable shoes. Once I wore heels on the same day my school decided to have fire drills all day. Yeah ouch! I grab my invite that popped out of my printer, switched off all the lights, closed my bedroom door and proceeded to my exit.

My exit. Ha! It sounds so theatrical; so dramatic. And to be honest, it truly does feel like that. Sneaking down to the ground floor is easy; the hard part comes in actually leaving the house. One would think I could just easily open the front door wide enough to slip my body through, and then close it quietly behind me. Well it is not that simple. If it were, I would not be explaining it to you. Our front door has an alarm set. Not just a burglar alarm that most homes do, ours actually makes a _beep-beep_ noise every time it is open or closed. You can hear it through the whole house; also the door itself is very creaky and loud. So how do I make my daring escape without awaking the family? I jump out the window. Simple enough.

The drop from the living room window to ground is only a three, four feet. I am not worried about waking my brother. He and the rest of the family are all very heavy sleepers, which is great for a night owl like me. What worries me is the last time I did this, I jumped too close to the wall of the house and had a huge black and blue bruise all up the side of my upper arm. Yeah it hurt.

So without further ado, I crept over to the window, slid the windowpane and the screen up just enough to slip my body through. I drop my shoes onto the grass with a soft _thud._ There, now my hands are free to support me. I take a leg up on the sill and brace myself. I inhale and exhale slowly and then thrust my body forward jumping out the window. I landed on my feet but then proceeded to fall on my ass. Gravity has its way of working when I _really_ don't want it to. I rub my sore bum as I stand up and check myself over. Nothing wounded, except my pride. Not sure what is worse. Anyway, I brush off my dress, rearrange my hair and glasses and start the walk over to the party.

The building use to be an ink factory for printing everything from newspapers to history textbooks (ewww). After the company decided to join the modern world, workers were laid off to make way for the new and improved "robots", that would do their job for them at a faster and lower paying rate. What the owner didn't know is that the 'bots he bought were the first model made by this Spyrotech Inc. and the bugs hadn't exactly been worked out yet. So when the first set of published books were printed there were printer lines, ink blotches, missing words and a sundry of other mistakes throughout the whole book. No one at the time knew how to fix it or had an I.T guy to fix it, so the owner went broke from all the constant reprints and shut down. Sucks for him but great for kids who want a place to just hang with friends, try drugs or "experiment" without getting caught too easily. It's also convenient for parties such as this one.

The building itself is a common printing warehouse minus the equipment. People were smart enough to remove all the harmful "weapons" from the building after a couple of idiots were caught hanging from the presses and laying across work tables high as a kite. It has six floors; five above ground and one basement. The basement isn't accessible because it was converted into a storage room and there is too much shit in it for anyone to really want to clean it out. At first glance, the building appears to be like it always is…. vacant. But as I got closer I could see a faint but distinctive purple-ish black light streaming out from the windows on the fourth and fifth floor. $10 that's where the party is.

I approach the front door, what's left of it anyway, and have my invite in hand for entry. There was all ready a queue of people when I showed up but, it seemed I wouldn't have to wait long. As I waited for admittance I glanced among the sea of partygoers to inspect what they had deemed, "the colors of our people". I was glad I didn't read that much into it. Some were dressed in simple but classier clothes like myself but some had dressed on the exact opposite of the spectrum; clad in dark cloaks, black poets shirt, and black dress up pants. Some women were sporting a gothic medieval dresses. I saw a lot of Victorian goths as well as some Romantic goths and of course the beloved "baby bats". I had to feel for these little bat-lings. They were still trying to find themselves in the Goth culture and due to this, they were scorned upon by other "senior goths" who had all ready established their place in _our_ society. That didn't stop our little "babies" from trying to find themselves.

I must take a moment to say in my opinion I truly believe the Goth culture is the only "stereotype" that allows one to chose among the stereotype itself. By that I mean, if you are a Goth, you are not just a Goth. Many take gothic to mean all black, depressing mood, cowering in the corner of a dark room, writing dark poetry about how no one understands them and so forth. This is not always the case. You could be a Cyber-Goth, Romantic Goth, Victorian Goth, E.O.A goth, or even a baby gothling. There is even a type of Goth were one can dress in "gothic" fashion yet still be appropriate for work. These are called Corporate "Corp" Goths. This variety differs in comparison to other cliques like preps, jocks, nerds etc. If you are a Jock; you are a Jock. You may not play the same sport but you are still a Jock. The same can be said about preps and nerds. You may be prep or a nerd for a different reason than someone else, but you are still lumped together as prep or nerd nonetheless. But again I digress.

I get up to the front of the line where this cross between a vampire and a hobbit from Lord of the Rings, was waiting to ask for my ticket. A short 4' man with curly dark brown almost russet hair with skin that looks like liquid paper with sunken in eyes and hollowed cheekbone. He looked quite funny though with his short stature paired with lithe and lanky arms that would give Icabod Crane a run for his money and bony little fingers that would make any old person proud. He dressed for the occasion by dawning a dark red tunic, black dress pants, a pair of black riding boots and to finish it off a black cowl hung from his emaciated form.

He was holding a clipboard in one hand, checking things off as people entered. '_Security detail,'_ I think to myself. He held out his free, palled hand, palm up, bony fingers shaking in waiting. "Do you have your invitation my lady?" he asked in what seemed his feeble attempt to sound cryptic. "Yes I do. Right here." I said procuring the invitation from my side and letting it fall into his waiting hand. He scanned the paper to make sure all the correct information was there. This would be our screen name; our account # which is given to us when you first create your account; date printed and number of printing.

Apparently _TheWhoRulesTheNight_ really wanted to make sure no unwanted guests crashed his party. So after he sent out the invitations to the already existent and active members of HeartThrob, he stopped accepting new accounts. And since the website keeps track of how many people and their accounts are registered he knew exactly how many invites to send out. Not a single invitation more or less.

"So?" I asked after a minute of him looking over the paper and mumbling to himself. "Do I pass? May I enter now oh gate keeper to this awesome party?" My voice is dripping with sarcasm and he looks up at me, (I'm only nine inches taller than him but it's still an advantage,) and sneers. "Yeah yeah. Go on in." As I turned to enter the building he called out to me. "Hey girlie!" I glanced over my shoulder to see him standing there stooped over, his pale thin lips pulled into a creepy smile while he hold one hand up, wiggling his bony fingers me in a farewell. "Enjoy the party."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Entering the building one could really tell it had been neglected despite its many occupants. Gaping holes in the floor gave one a great view of the basement in its' inky blackness. The elevator, which I am sure at one point actually worked, now stayed at its post, never to _ding_ again. Not because it is broken; there is enough power to at least get the elevator running. I think the city agreed that,

"If the kids are going to play there, might as well keep the elevator going so they don't have to tire themselves out by walking up so many floors". But once a group of friends were messing around on the top floor and after getting shit faced they all decided to board the elevator than to walk down five flights of stairs. They got on, the thing worked for the first floor down, but then they heard this creak and groan and the elevator dropped, with all its passengers, three floors straight down. Scarred the crap out of them, and I don't they ever drank that hard ever again. Anyway that experience was enough to scare away anyone from trying that contraption of death ever again.

Like I said before, there is enough power to run the elevator but the lights that hang from the ceiling still flicker on and off, trying to cast an illumination on the sad state of the building. Now the first three floors are usually empty, even if there is a party. That's for good reason. The first floor is empty because, it's the first floor, no one want to be there. The second floor is usually used for storing coats and beer since it was used as a supply room before the basement. The third floor is used for experimenting. This is because there are a lot of tables and flat surfaces because this where the books and everything else was printed (minus equipment) and there are a lot of tarps that use to cover these tables. You figure out the rest.

The fifth floor is actually the roof but people still go up there to smoke and what not. The fourth floor is where the party is being thrown. It actually use to be office space, but after the factory shut down, the employees working there at the time had to clear out their "office space" and that left this floor completely vacant. Except for one, lone, water cooler that was kept in the far front right corner of the room.

As I got closer and closer to my destination, this feeling of nervousness, became stronger and stronger. I could feel it breathing down my neck, filling my head with worry and my heart with dread. Any sane person would have taken this emotion as an omen of things to come, and would have left. Heck, a normal person would have turned back when they saw the _**emo hobbit**_ at the front door! But then again, never have I claimed to be normal. Why start now?

I shook my head as these thoughts flooded my mind. I was probably nervous over nothing. Just like a child gets scared at the first day of kindergarten. They don't know anyone except their own parents and are terrified of what lays beyond those rainbow painted doors. But after they get used to the new sights, sounds and people they are fine. Sometimes they don't even want to leave the place after the day is done.

Just a few more steps now. A mere foot or so and I would be upon the large factory doors that would lead me to my great master. A few other people raced in front of me, more than eager to join the party. It had seemed I had slowed my pace down as I got closer to the door. I stopped for a moment as I watched a young couple cross the threshold into the room. The girl was dressed in a sequined spaghetti strap black cocktail dress with high black pumps to match. Her fire red hair was wavy and draped over her right shoulder giving her an alluring and seductive look. Her man was dressed simply in dark Victorian attire consisting of dress pants, button down red silk shirt, and a black waistcoat. His strawberry blond hair was slicked back with a little too much gel but, he looked very gentlemanly. They giggled, took a deep breath and held hands as they pushed the doors open together. Loud music poured out from the room and the strobe lights now cast their ominous hands out to the hallway in which I stood, creating even more eerie shadows to dance among.

It seemed that there were a lot of people there and more were still arriving. The doors started to shut and I had found myself almost rubber necking to see what other mysteries laid behind their walls. 'Wait,' I thought. 'I don't need to do that! I am invited to the freakin' thing! Just get over it and go in baka_1_!' After the mental battle with myself, I stepped, pushed on the door and, walked into the room. I turned to look behind me to catch a sight of the moon, its pure and beautiful light streaming in through a solitary window, as the doors slowly closed behind me.

1 Baka ("ba" like the sound a sheep makes; "ka" like "ka-ching".) It means to act or to be stupid.


End file.
